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Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Spring in Florida is a wondrous thing, chiefly because of its ephemeral nature: if you're lucky, you get about a month of wonderfully warm days and deliciously cool nights, and the humidity combined with the heavy aroma of honeysuckle turns the air into a decadently sensuous perfume that caresses your body and tempts you to strip naked and bathe in the sheer luxury of it all.

These kinds of nights are a special treasure to me because, for as long as they last, they can make the multitude of voices in my fall silent, as if in silent appreciation of the evening's rarity. For an all too brief moment, I can be alone inside my own head, and think truly focused thoughts. These kinds of nights encourage me to walk for hours, and the rhythm of my footfalls soothes my troubled soul like a mother rocking her daughter's worries to sleep.

Nights like this encourage truly deep thinking, because they somehow disable the internal bullshit-meter that governs my thinking the other days of the year. For a short, glorious period, I am able to reasonably entertain all possibilities, no matter how absurd, and this enables me to short-circuit a lot of the self-sabotaging thoughts that typically encumber me. I do a lot of walking, a lot of thinking, and a lot of self-exploration, and while the theses I entertain nightly are patently absurd in the light of day, the fact remains that rational enlightenment can be achieved through a preposterous premise if I'm just allowed to think long enough. Even a false path can take you a few steps in the right direction, as long as you are able to fully discern its falsity, and if you can do so without having walked its full path then you have gained no small degree of wisdom.

Saturday was one such night, and upon returning home at a sufficiently late hour it occurred to me that fortune had presented me with a very rare gift: the opportunity to walk down my street, naked.

I can't rightly explain why the idea appealed to me so, but all the conditions were perfect. I live in a fairly rural suburb, so while I have neighbors my street is not packed with houses; in fact, there are undeveloped lots of pure Florida forest in roughly equal proportion to the homes. There are no streetlights, and only a few of the houses keep their porch lights burning in the wee hours, but there was a gibbous moon in the sky that provided light for me to see where I was going, yet also enough shadow that I would not easily be seen from any window. The air was warm, ensuring that I would not become chilled by walking about with my nethers exposed, but still cool enough to delay the hatching of mosquitoes for another few weeks.

In short, it was perfect timing. No one would see me, no bugs would bite me, and I could enjoy the thrill of being naked in the open air. Wearing only my crocs, I stepped out into the street...

... and into profound disappointment. There was no electric thrill of being naughty, no rush of getting away with breaking the rules. Instead, I was merely naked outdoors. It was exactly like being outside in shorts and a tank top, only without clothes. I wandered my neighborhood for a bit, seeking to capture some fleeting exhilaration, finding none. I returned home to ponder this new development.

What was the reason for this disappointment, I wondered? I am not an exhibitionist, hence my desire to walk at a time when none would see me. I sincerely doubt I was secretly seeking discovery. Was it the act of transgression I desired? None had seen me, so I had broken no laws. Eventually I had to concede the simple fact that it had been desirable only while it was in my head; that sometimes, the thought of doing something is far more sensual and desirable than the actual doing thereof.

I've always felt that the archtypically male "2 women at once" fantasy suffered from a lack of critical thinking.

I mean, if it's difficult enough for a guy to satisfy one woman, what's he gonna do when he disappoints both? When they both want to be cuddled afterwards? And Eris help him if they start to cycle at the same time...

Of course, if they're bi, then they can cuddle each other and he can roll over and go to sleep. But this then leads to the question, "Why do we even need this schlub in the first place?" And then the guy ends up getting kicked out of the relationship.

I'm pretty much convinced that fantasies need to stay fantasies or they lose their gloss.

Absolutely. I require my fantasies be equipped with an extra large tube of strawberry-flavoured gloss, just to prevent reality slippages.

Case in point, what have you gained by walking nude down your street? Apparently nothing, other than being able to say "I've walked nude down my street." I myself have gained the ability to truthfully say, "You know, that's highly overrated." in various situations.

There's a reason some of us were given good imaginations. Otherwise we'd get in such trouble..

Also: your verification is making me type some very nearly rude words. Just thought you'd like to know.

I suppose, if I wanted to get overly-analytical, I could say that the thrill (supposedly) comes from nearly being seen/caught. Perhaps talking precautions against embarrassment also removes the "fun" of the exercise.

I once ran naked down the running path near Lake Michigan over here in Chicago. I had my cross trainers on with some knee high socks and a headband.

It was late. Really late. Between 2am and 3am. I had lost a wager.

It's pretty dark at that time, so even though my heart was racing, I wasn't too afraid of being seen.

So off I go tearing ass as fast as possible. I only saw 2 people on my naked journey. Those 2 were in the midst of passion and wearing less than I was. I had thought about stopping and offering my help, but the situation was weird enough as it was.

At the end of my half mile naked run, I slipped and fell. Good thing the area was full of sand, because that would have been 1 hell of a raspberry on me.

I do not think I will do a naked run every again. As a guy, it hurt after awhile do to my boy down there flying in all directions and whapping again my legs.

I won't lie, it was exhilarating feeling the wind all over me, and it was warm, but not something I'd be willing to wager again.

E - Well, at the time, I was asked to type xfkfkr, which pronounced has not one, but two rude words(or at least one, and the root of the other). I'll keep you posted on any further rudeness. This one wants me to type gwmicnxl which, for some reason, sounds dirty to me despite not quite knowing why.

My extent of public nudity begins and ends with being asked to pull it out due to extreme confidence in the magnificance of it. And, not being vain, I shall go no further (unless requested =D). No, seriously, it's not the typical guy "MINES SO BEEG" nonsense. It's really not massive. Promise.

Anyway..

Phrank - I have the firm believe that humanity was not meant to run. There's too many floppy bits that bounce around and hurt like hell when you run, at least naked. And let's face it, our less-advanced forebearers didn't exactly have access to Nikes, jock straps, or Unibras. Shame though, they'd be a right laugh in trainers.

UPDATE: OK, I must have typed that one in wrong, because it wants me to type axalbem now. Which IS dirty, I don't care what anyone says.

I tried this in our driveway (on a busy street) when I was about ten. Of course, that was around the time of the streaking craze (which tells you what a geezer I am). I blame it on childhood thrillseeking. What does this tell us about you? Um...I dunno...that you have the emotional level of a ten-year old? I think that's what I've always liked about you. That and your recipe for egg salad, Tiger Lilly...

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